We were standing at the Little Bighorn battlefield: an ominous place,
one would think, that would be sure to strike pride into the heart
of any Indian, and fear or resentment in the bosom of any member of
the Caucasian tribes who now roamed the memorial site. However, the
reality is dramatically different. The Little Bighorn can now be viewed,
not as a memorial to the resistance of colonization, but as a tribute
to the valiant heroes of American progress.
An hour north of the memorial site, the students of IAIA attended
the American Indian Higher Education Consortium student conference.
AIHEC was the reason that we now stood staring at Custer’s final
resting place. As the wind whipped the grass and blew dust across
the headstones of the Seventh Cavalry, I realized that Billings, our
AIHEC meeting place, was merely an extension of the Little Big Horn
memorial, caught in a time warp after the events that had occurred
here over a hundred years ago.
The hotels, restaurants and bars of Billings are covered in its own
past: the city’s founders, citizens, and original inhabitants,
all stare out of old-timey photographs with no smiles and hard eyes.
Scenes of progress and good old-fashioned American gumption dominate
the walls. Even McDonalds, the lowest common denominator of the planet,
has been taken over by pictures of Custer instead of Ronald the clown.
In every establishment that I entered I was faced with the stares
of pioneers and Indian fighters, forever watching the generations
of people walk through, most oblivious to the photographs. Perhaps
those in the photos secretly congratulate themselves for working so
hard to provide fast food joints, casinos and cut-throat bars to their
descendants. Perhaps they dream of shaking their heads and turning
around to face the opposite way. I suppose we will never know.
The people of Billings are proud of their heritage obviously, and
in a place like Billings a person would have to be. Billings is just
one of the many points scattered across the country where stragglers
heading West gave up and decided to drop their bags. They were part
of the rushing tide of settlers in search of land and riches, who
fled the over-populated areas of the East in a mad dash to “unpopulated”
areas.
Of course, many of the stragglers’ descendants now perceive
the area as their native soil and heritage as well, and rightfully
so. It is their ancestors’ sweat and blood that is pushing up
the flowers in front of the Kentucky Fried Chicken. While this has
been the home of Native people for thousands of years, the stragglers
know that it is their hard work that carved out the rough wilderness
and made it a “good and decent” place to live. While it
is nowhere near any of the “cultural hubs” of American
culture, it’s aspirations are enough to lead any longtime Billings
citizen to think that the term “cultural hub” will apply
at any time. Currently, the city is going through puberty, and its
awkward sprawl and greasy exterior is enough to show anyone that this
city wants to be a cool swingin’ guy with a fast car, like Las
Vegas, but will most likely end up being a janitor, like Rapid City.
In terms of its historical roots, its racially-charged photographs
and discontent citizens, Billings is a strange place to hold a conference
for Native American college students. Luckily for the city, this breed
of college students do not have the same urges as the kids at Berkeley
or Kent did in the 60’s. If so, the Native students may have
run wild through the streets burning every building that housed Custer’s
image, effectively destroying about 90% of the city. Of course the
headlines would be absolutely fantastic, and while the general population
of the United States would be incredibly nervous, I think it’s
safe to say the rest of the world would think that it was about time.
While many may wonder why anyone would hold a conference for American
Indian students in a place like Billings, one has to remember that
the city is not unlike most or all other cities in the United States.
It’s just more overt and proud then others about their Indian
fighting past, and present day urges to repeat history.
Of course, if the Indian fighting contingent was to be glorified,
I felt it only right that the descendents of the race that wiped out
the Seventh Cavalry were represented as well. And as the IAIA AIHEC
representatives stood on Last Stand Hill, overlooking the head stone
which marked where Custer died, I realized that it was ironic moments
such as these that could only make a person laugh. This was our final
stop on the way back to New Mexico, across the only freeway out of
Billings to anywhere I was familiar with.
As we waited for the vans to pick us up, it was clear to see Native
American students returning triumphant from meeting, discussing and
competing for their futures. We were the survivors making progress
despite attempts to hold us back, like those on the walls of Billings
businesses or the grim reminders that were now propped up at the Little
Big Horn memorial site. And while our people make progress everyday
and have easily adapted to the jobs, education and other ideas that
Custer fought for, we still do it better than the missionaries and
descendants of “progress”.
As we sailed down the highway, past the oil refineries of Billings
and the Custer memorial, I can only guess that those faces on the
walls and their descendants look on in disgust as the horde of Native
students left town again as quickly as they arrived, leaving Billings
to its photos and memories.
